


High Heart

by paperheart



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Gendrya - Freeform, Temporary Amnesia, aged up (thanks to time travel), divergent timeline from ASoS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-04-24 00:37:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19162237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperheart/pseuds/paperheart
Summary: High Heart had been sacred to the children of the forest, Tom Sevenstrings told her, and some of their magic lingered here still.Arya disappears at High Heart but isn't captured by The Hound.In present-day Westeros, a sixteen-year-old girl named Arya disappears on a school trip to a local landmark.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in a LONG time, but couldn't shake this idea. So, here goes...
> 
> (and I'm going with the theory that Hollow Hill is directly below High Heart because I like it)

  _The next day, they rode to a place called High Heart, a hill so lofty that from atop it Arya felt as though she could see half the world. Around its brow stood a ring of huge pale stumps, all that remained of a circle of once-mighty weirwoods. Arya and Gendry walked around the hill to count them. There were thirty-one, some so wide that she could have used them for a bed._

_High Heart had been sacred to the children of the forest, Tom Sevenstrings told her, and some of their magic lingered here still._

...

"Fifteen minutes, class." Mr Martin called, already halfway back down the hill.

Leesi groaned, lifting her sunglasses to glance down at him from where she lay sunning herself on the grass next to Arya. "What's the point? It's all on like… Google Maps anyway."

High Heart and Hollow Hill were places to go on family trips or with school when you were a little kid. The class weren't about to ruin a perfectly good day in the sun with something as pointless as geography when it was all available in the palm of their hands.

Her guardian had brought her here once when she was eleven, and she felt she knew it then too. Even in the dark. Arya imagined she must have come here as a child as well, with the family she dreamt of sometimes. There was something so familiar about the place, but she remembered nothing from before. 

Showing her classmate the finished map they were supposed to be working on as a group during the day trip, Arya laughed half-heartedly. "It's fine. It took all of about five minutes, while you were flirting with Nathan." She teased.

"I wasn't _flirting_ ," the blonde girl blushed. "Do you think he was flirting with me?" Leesi's eyes lit up. Arya rolled hers.

Born Khaleesi to parents who meant well enough, Leesi decided at age twelve that it was trashy and had to be shortened. She was pretty and popular, outwardly nice and friendly, but in constant need of validation. Quite possibly perfect for the Wolves’ goalie. It hadn’t escaped Arya’s notice that this sudden budding friendship coincided with Leesi’s crush on Arya’s teammate.

"I don't know. Maybe? You were both making heart-eyes at each other and he kept checking to see if you were watching while they were jumping the stumps, so?" 

The guys had been trying to impress the girls and each other by attempting to jump from one weirwood stump to the next. They fell or knocked one another over more often than they successfully landed, and were now climbing in amongst the weirwood roots beneath in Hollow Hill. They were sixteen, some seventeen, the future of Westeros and the world, sword fighting with branches and dangling from tree roots like children.

"Oh, my Gods! Really? You think he was making heart-eyes?" she asked jumping up, dusting off the grass from her jeans.

Keeping another eyeroll under control, Arya got up and nodded. “Go,” she shooed. “go make an excuse to sit next to him on the bus trip back. I’ve got another couple of pics to take and then I’ll see you down there.”

Leesi thought for a second then with a brilliant smile and a wave, she was off. And with that, Arya had the hill and the stumps to herself.

Tucking the map into her notebook then into her bag, Arya pulled her phone from her Wolves hoodie. She had some reference photos; the view from the top of High Heart, inside Hollow Hill, The Ruins of Harrenhal on the horizon from earlier in the day, but she wanted some of the tree stumps without anyone else in the picture.

It was hard to fit them all into the frame. In the end, she settled for a panorama.

Walking into the middle of the circle, Arya wondered how the circle came about. Weirwood trees were thousands of years old according to the public school system, and older still according to Mel's teachings, which included magical forest children and other things that didn't help her reputation.

Arya took a photo of the top of one of the stumps and wondered how long it would take to count the rings. Thinking she might at least have enough time left to count the stumps, she began to do that instead. As she walked and counted, Arya thought back to the time Mel had taken her here. It wasn’t long after Arya had become her ward, with no possessions and no memory of anything but her first name.  The strange questions she'd asked over and over, and how she had made Arya touch the weirwood stumps and even said a prayer to R'hllor. But whatever Mel had been hoping for, nothing happened.

Had she been here before? Maybe? Other than that, Arya could recall nothing of her past or the accident that caused her memory loss. The doctors had stitched the wound on the top of her head, ran the full gamut of tests and agreed that such an injury was significant enough to cause short term amnesia, but that her memory would return in time. For five years Arya had tried desperately to remember. Something. Anything. But nothing ever returned.

Arya touched one of the stumps out of curiosity as she counted it and wasn't the least bit surprised when nothing happened then either.

 _five… six… seven… eight… nine…_ Arya stopped as a sudden feeling of déjà vu hit her, leaving as quickly as it came.

"Five minutes!" Mr Martin's voice called from further away.

Arya walked to the next stump. _Ten_ , she thought to herself _…eleven… twelve…_ , a voice in her memory joined her. Looking up, the voice belonged to a teenage boy much taller than her, and suddenly Arya felt very small.

" _thirteen…_ " they counted together, her and the boy. Arya couldn't place him or think of his name, but she felt safe with him so they kept walking and counting, " _fourteen… fifteen… sixteen…_ " he turned to look at her and the blue of his eyes framed by his coal-black hair falling in his face stopped her in her tracks _._

_I know him._

He kept walking, the memory disappearing like smoke and Arya felt the loss like a blow to her stomach.

The ground began to hum beneath her then, and the air became heavy and seemed to vibrate around her. She looked up, instinctively falling into a crouch, thinking for a second that a jet plane must be flying right above the hill, but there was nothing. Looking back down she saw drops of blood falling onto the weirwood stump, and bringing a hand to her face she found her nose was bleeding.

_Oh, Gods, what's happening._

Arya's ears popped and she doubled over, a sudden wave of nausea hitting her. She needed to run from it. This. Whatever it was. The need to escape overwhelmed all of her senses, but she could no longer move under the weight of it all. The push and pull surrounded her and seeped into every cell in her body. Her vision blurred with the pain and Arya's teeth clenched tight fighting it.

_I'm dying._

_Arya?_ A distant voice whispered before the world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya wakes up by the weirwood stumps at High Heart, but something's a little different

_All I want is to hold a little piece of history between my teeth. It's cold and hard, like mother's grief. - History, Holy Holy_

...

 

The pain came first. For a brief, but terrible moment, nothing else in the world existed other than the ache that reached bone deep throughout her entire body. It was as if the worst migraine she had ever experienced somehow didn't stop at just her head, but spread all over.

Arya lay still, not daring to move until it began to subside. She tested her fingers and became aware of the grass beneath them, tentatively opened her eyes and closed them again at the bright sky. With a groan, Arya rolled to her side and pushed herself up onto her elbow, bracing herself for a sharp stab of pain that often came with moving when she'd had migraines before. Not that she'd ever had one like this.

When nothing happened, Arya pushed herself onto her knees and then managed to stand. Opening her eyes again, she found herself still alone on top of the hill. She was sure she blacked out, but it mustn't have been for long, because no-one had come looking for her.

_They're probably all just waiting on the bus wondering what the fuck I'm doing up here._

Wiping her upper lip, Arya found the blood from her nose was half dry, but she soon forgot about that when a quick look around told her that her bag was gone.

"The fuck?"

Unbelievable, someone took her bag and left her on top of a hill, passed out. When she found out who did it she was going to give them a bloody nose too. _Bastards._ Reaching into her jeans pocket, she was relieved to find they didn't take her phone. _Thank Gods._ She was still pissed, but at least she wouldn't have to deal with Mel having a fit over a lost phone too.

 

The climb down the hill was exhausting now that the ache in her muscles was slowly being replaced by fatigue. The feeling of having been hit by a bus normally set in after Arya'd slept for hours to shake a monster headache, never beforehand. She didn't know what was worse, only that sleep sounded great right now.

 

It was quiet.

Now that the sunlight wasn't hurting her eyes and head quite so much, Arya looked around for the rest of the class. It was odd that she couldn't hear them.

_Maybe I'm temporarily deaf from this shitty headache?_

_No._ She could hear the ravens flying overhead. _Not deaf._

There was no-one around. They wouldn't have left without her, _would they? No._ Mr Martin wouldn't even let the bus leave the school that morning without doing a head count three times. And Leesi – well, ok, Leesi was probably too caught up in the possibility that Nathan liked her back to even notice if the bus was suddenly on fire.

She looked toward the direction of the carpark, but couldn't see it for all the trees in the way. There didn't seem to be that many trees earlier. Arya dismissed the thought. It had been so good to be out of school for the day and finally off that stinking bus, she probably just didn't pay attention.

Then she heard them. It was hard to make out what they were saying or who was saying what, but it sounded like the guys were arguing. Walking toward their aggravated voices, she wondered what drama she missed.

 

"Let's see if she can dance." One voice came through clearly, and when Arya made her way through some elm trees that surely weren't there before, she was stopped in her tracks at what wasn't a busload of school kids in front of her either.

Had she come down the wrong side of the hill? There was a medieval re-enactment happening on this side.

A group of men dressed like extras from a Robin Hood movie; some in mismatched armour, one even with a gross yellow cape, a girl about her own age, but skinny as a stick, and someone in a grey hooded cloak were all gathered around three men pretending to be hanged. The three kicked and struggled against the ropes very realistically.

Arya looked back. The cave opening to Hollow Hill was on this side. The same one she went up then.

Her head hurt.

With a hand to the back of her head, which did nothing for the throbbing, Arya turned back to the group. She didn't want to interrupt, and any other day would probably sit down and enjoy the show, but she desperately wanted to just go home to bed and sleep this day off. Maybe one of them wouldn't mind stepping out of character for a sec to tell her if they'd seen the bus leave.

On a closer look at the trio hanging, Arya could see that the tallest one was actually a woman and another was just a kid, maybe in his early teens. _These guys are seriously into this stuff_ , she thought, wondering how they make their faces turn purple. _It looks so real._

"Sword!" the woman screamed in an awful choked plea that made Arya jump slightly, snapping a twig underfoot. The hooded character turned and saw Arya, but their face to too shadowed to be seen from where Arya stood. With a wave of their hand in the direction of the ropes, the Grey Hood signalled the others to cut the three down. And so they did.

Walking forward, Arya cleared her throat. The Grey Hood, who Arya figured was an important character in their story, was still looking at her and others noticed and looked her way as well.

They drew their weapons. Arya stopped. Were re-enactments interactive? She didn't know.

"Um, s'cuse me," she began "sorry, but have you seen a bus?"

An arrow narrowly missed her ear as it shot past her head and slammed into the trunk of the tree behind her.

"Fuck!" she cried and ducked a little sideways. "You could have hit me!" the anger that built at their stupidity made her head hurt more.

"The next won't miss." Said the archer, having already nocked his next arrow.

"I just-"

The archer drew his elbow back in warning. Arya shut up.

The woman that had been cut down from the rope was now helping the boy up and started loosening his noose while hers still hung around her neck. The man that had been hanging along with them took his own rope off and stood, coughing for air beside them.

The Grey Hood held a hand to their own throat and choked out the most awful, strangled and rattled sound. It was a question in tone, but Arya couldn't make out the words.

"Who are you?" asked a stocky man with brown hair. "And why do you wear the Stark sigil on your …tunic?" The man looked her up and down, strangely and untrusting.

"My…?" Arya looked down at her Wolves hoodie. _Do they think I'm part of their show?_ "I-" The Grey Hood was walking toward her and as they got closer, their face became visible in the light that filtered through the tree branches. They stopped toe-to-toe with Arya, lowering the hood.

Arya's breath caught in her throat.

It was a woman. Was. Once. But what stood before her now, close enough to breathe in the smell of decay and rot, could not be called human. It was no mask, no clever prosthetics or makeup. At this distance, there was no denying the horrible and very real gashes on the woman's face that ran from her eyes down to her jaw, and the bone that showed through in places. Dried blood caked the cuts, and her skin was grey with death. Her hair was white as though what colour it might have been had drained away with her life's blood. The worst part was her throat. Cut open, deep enough to see the sliced windpipe through the dark and rotted flesh.

Frozen in fear, images from Arya's dreams flickered like a camera flash in her mind as she stared, unable to look away; the beautiful woman, with long auburn hair and blue eyes, smiling down at her warmly. The same woman chastising her for muddying her dress, and holding her, singing softly as she fought sleep. And finally, the same face before her now, wet and bloated as Arya’s own teeth pulled the lifeless body from the water. That dream had always left her sleepless for the rest of that night and the next.

The woman reached up a bony, pale hand to Arya's head and ran her fingers through her hair, examining. Then the other hand joined it, both cradling her face. Fingers cold and hard as they traced the lines and features; her brows, her nose, her mouth.

Eyes, colourless and frightfully familiar peered into her own. Searching, questioning, then suddenly certain.

The woman clutched at her torn, gaping throat and Arya felt her own tighten painfully as tears began to build.

"Arya." Her name was a slow and tortured, wheezing cry from behind the woman's fingers. And the tears fell as Arya mourned a loss that was just beyond her grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. 2 chapters and no Gendry? What gives?  
> As per the books, he wasn't present at the hanging, but I promise that he will make an appearance soon.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


	3. Chapter 3

The air in the stable was damp and pungent with old straw and horse shit. Gendry smelled worse by the time he started shovelling out the last bay.

"s'not fair." Grumbled Wallen, slumped over the gate.

Gendry hefted another scoop of the muck into the barrow and threw the boy an exasperated look.

"A lots not fair. Like you hangin' about whingin' while I do all the work. Now, make yourself useful or we won't get this done ‘fore they get back."

The boy sighed and climbed down off the gate, dragging his feet as he set off the grab the pitchfork. Wallen was as lazy as he was irritating. Along with his constant complaining, the boy had mastered the art of looking busy when all he really did was loiter around the people actually doing all the work.

While Westeros' most powerful fought over a stupid crown from the comfort of their castles, it was the powerless beneath them that felt every hit and blow. None so powerless than those that found themselves at the Crossroads. With every new mouth to feed, came more work and anyone who didn't earn their keep met the business end of Willow's wooden spoon.

‘Tell ‘em to let me come along next time, Gendry," Wallen pleaded, throwing a sorry scoop of fresh straw into one of the bays, "I'm almost a man grown."

Gendry couldn't help but smile and let out a short laugh at that. He couldn't recall the last time he'd done either of those things.

_Before I lost her_.

He forced back the painful memory to the place where it lived and ached. Always there in the eyes of every child who might be her arriving at the inn. Always ready for him when the work was done and his mind wasn't kept busy. There, waiting in the dark every night when he closed his eyes.

Wallen looked at Gendry oddly, whether at the brief display of joy or the grief that must've been plain on his face soon after, he couldn't be sure. Gendry gave the boy what he hoped was a comforting and even apologetic half smile and gestured,

"A man grown, huh? Yeah, I can just about see your whiskers coming through. How old are you then? Ten?"

"Nine," the boy beamed. "On my next nameday."

"Aye. Well, see, I'm six and ten, and even I don't want to be around them doin' what it is they're doin'. And ‘sides, it's up to us grown men to protect the little ones while they're gone, innit?" Gendry assured him, all the while wondering if what was left of the Brotherhood and the lady they now called Stoneheart was what they would all soon require protection from.

"I s'pose," Wallen kicked the dirt absently. "Only, I'll bet Lady Stoneheart isn't half as bossy as Willow. She tanned my hide for not clearing out the stables as soon as you all left." He rubbed his bottom for emphasis or maybe sympathy. Or maybe it still hurt. For a girl of ten, Willow had a wicked arm when it came to keeping the children in line.

"Well, you'd better get to it then or you might miss supper too. C'mon, we're nearly done."

 

 

The sun was high in the sky by the time they'd finished. Gendry wiped the sweat from his face with the front of his shirt and was grateful for the cool breeze that hit his skin when he did so. He sent the boy off to wash up before he went in for the midday meal and was about to do the same when one of the children keeping watch upstairs called out.

"Riders!"

It was likely the Brotherhood and Lady Stoneheart, who frightened the orphans more than any of the robbers and rapers that had ever made the mistake of thinking the inn was unprotected. Still, he went to the forge for his hammer just in case.

It was them. Lem's foul, piss-coloured cloak and The Hound's helm that he wore were visible as they drew nearer. Lem, The Lady, Harwin and a couple of others were on horseback, while the rest walked behind. Taller than most men, and somehow more out of place in a brown shift than in the armour he'd seen her in last, was the woman knight. Her wrists were tied, as were those of her two companions. Gendry felt most sorry for the boy, who couldn't have been much older than Wallen.

So they hadn't hanged then.

The relief Gendry felt at that might have had more to do with the fact that all others who had faced Lady Stoneheart's judgement had met the end of a rope. The Brotherhood Without Banners had earned his respect when they deemed even The Hound worthy of a trial, but under the command of Stoneheart, ‘trial' had become synonymous with execution.

Had Harwin or one of the others brought her around? Was there hope of more for the Brotherhood than vengeance? He didn't hold himself higher than any of them for it. Every Lannister soldier that hanged at The Lady's word might've been the one who stole Arya away. His nails bit into the palm of his hand as he clenched his fist, thinking of that night.

His throat had been left raw from screaming her name into the dark. She was gone. And it was all his fault.

If Stoneheart knew of the fight they'd had, that sent Arya running into the night, she'd just as like to hang him too. And there were times when the searches turned up no trace, when every brown-haired boy or girl turned out not to be her, times when he couldn't or wouldn't shut the memories away and the hurt became so great, that Gendry thought he might welcome it.

He steadied himself not wanting the others to read it on his face when they neared. They'd press him for a reason for his anger or just put it down to his being hot-tempered and disagreeable as they so often did. Lady Stoneheart would be a different matter. She seemed to stare into a person's soul and he wondered if maybe she could. She was a lot more dead than Dondarrion had been, and that man died seven times.

A few of the children poked their heads out the doors and windows, some with crossbows that were withdrawn upon sight of the familiar faces.

One face was both familiar and not at the same time.

Gendry took a step closer to the oncoming group.

It was a girl. She wore strange clothing. The Stark wolf sigil that he recognised from the Hand's visit to King's Landing adorned the girl's odd tunic. It had a hood attached that she left down, uncovering brown hair that fell past her shoulders. And the black breeches that she wore seemed to be made for a person even skinnier than she was. They were almost skin tight and had rips in the knees that he could see her skin through. He felt his cheeks blush at the sight and was overcome with a sudden feeling that it was a betrayal of this stranger's decency that he should see the shape of her legs as he did. He made an effort to look no further down than her shoulders.

_Stupid_. He was a stupid idiot. He'd seen whores with their teats out and _this_ felt inappropriate?

He looked away. At Lem first, then the woman knight and her companions, their throats were purple and an angry red from rope burn. _They did hang after all?_ But something stopped them. _What in the hells happened back there?_ His eyes found their way back to the girl, whose own eyes seemed to be both taking in the surroundings, but not really seeing. Like her mind was far away.

The riders dismounted and lead the horses toward the stable, barely addressing Gendry or Willow who had come out of the door at some point. 

The girl's eyes found him and took him in from head to toe.

_Grey eyes. Her eyes._

Those eyes locked on his and Gendry's heart raced.

She walked towards him, a questioning look on her face, and he dared not to breathe.

The brown hair. The long face, more of a woman's face now, but the same. Same brows, nose …mouth.

He could feel his heart beat hard in his chest.

Could it?

It had to.

It was…

 

It wasn't possible.

 

He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach and that underlying ache joined the slowing thump in his chest. This one wasn't her either.

It had been six moons since she vanished. Arya would be ten and one at most. This girl might be his age.

_Beautiful._ He thought, sadly. Beautiful, but not her. 

Gendry's gaze fell and he wanted nothing more at that moment than to be alone.

 

Then she spoke.

"It's you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY! I had every intention of updating MUCH sooner, but you know *gestures vaguely* life


	4. Chapter 4

Arya had pinched herself so many times, a bruise had started to bloom on her forearm.

_Not a dream_ , she thought, following the younger brunette girl who had marched them all inside to eat. She didn’t want to eat. She wanted to go home. She wanted to ask that black-haired guy who he was and how in the hells she knew him. She wanted to sleep off this bastard of a headache that still threatened to make her puke.

_Maybe I’m concussed?_ Concussions made you feel sick; she was pretty sure she’d heard that somewhere. Whether they made you hallucinate, she was less certain.

Wooden benches and stools scrapped along the hard floor as men and children poured in from outside and upstairs to find a space to sit and eat. No women, Arya noticed, other than the one who had almost hanged, the older teenage girl and the one they called Stoneheart. All three were still outside with a handful of the men, deep in discussion. Arya looked at the hooded woman through the window, still in disbelief, and was curious at the way her heart ached to see her like that. She must have once been beautiful.

The black-haired boy with the saddest and bluest eyes she’d ever seen didn’t come in with the rest. Arya had been about to ask him who he was when the young, bossy girl demanded everyone come in for food. When Arya had turned back to the boy, he was already walking away.

  


Plates of rustic loaves, bowls, spoons and cups clattered as they were laid out on the tables. The smell of warm soup and bread filled her nose. Maybe she was hungry after all.

The inn reminded her of the kind in Old Westeros Town; the historically recreated village in King’s Landing, where people went to watch choreographed jousting and have their photos taken on the "Iron Throne", which was actually made of fibreglass.

A grubby little blonde girl chewing open-mouthed stared at her from one of the tables. She was four years old at a guess, but her eyes held the suspicion and disapproval of someone much older. Arya stuck her tongue out at the kid. She wasn’t the only one though. Looking around, Arya found most people in the room openly gawking at and whispering about her. Judgemental eyes scanned her clothing and shoes. Hands covered the whispers that came from whatever they had determined. Arya dragged a tired hand down her face and walked, a little lost, toward the fireplace.

‘No, you don’t,’ a firm grip took her elbow. It was the bossy girl. ‘You can sit by the fire once you’ve cleaned up and changed out of those…breeches. Then you’ll eat while there’s still food to be eaten.’

‘Breeches? What- who are you?’

‘Willow,’ the girl scowled. ‘And yes, your breeches. Those are far too small for you and ripped besides.’ Willow lead Arya toward a staircase as she went on. ‘I’ll not have anyone say I didn’t feed and clothe you proper while under my roof. Now go on up, I’ll have some water brought up for you to wash. Jeyne!’ With that, the girl set off with a determined look to the front door.

Watching from the second step, Arya absently put her hands in her pockets. She almost jumped for joy when she felt her phone, forgotten in all the craziness. Pulling it out, her joy was soon lost. The no signal sign stared uselessly back at her from the top bar along with the battery power now at 44%.

Her first thought went to her charger, which was no use at home. The second, to the realisation that Mel would have no doubt been advised of Arya’s missing person status by now.

_Fuck._

She dialled Mel’s number despite the no signal display, praying it was wrong.

It wasn’t.

There was no dial tone. Mel was going to be pissed or worse, worried. Not in a maternal way, of course. She had never been like that. But, in her I’m-on-a-mission-and-need-to-know-what’s-going-on-at-all-times kind of way. She frowned at her phone in betrayal before putting it back in her pocket. Looking up, the tall man in red robes from the woods earlier stood across the room watching her.

 

 

There wasn’t a mirror in the room she'd been sent to. Only the side table that held the wash bowl, an old bed and a small table with two wooden chairs. The small cloth was rough as she wiped her face, and the caked blood from her nose told her she must’ve been a sight to all these strange people. It didn't matter. As soon as she had a chance to slip out, Arya would never have to see any of them again. She was going to walk back toward the hill until she had phone service and find her way home.

But first, she had to figure out where she was. Almost hysterically, she wondered if the more important question was _when,_ but that was ridiculous. It almost made her laugh. That thing that happened on the hill really did a number on her. Thinking about the way the air up there seemed to crush and pull her apart at the same time filled her with dread. She wouldn't go back up there. If her phone didn't work out in the open, she would just have to follow the street lights to the King's Highway.

 

The smell of food from downstairs made Arya’s stomach gurgle with hunger. She would eat first, she decided. Eat, wait until everyone was busy and then sneak out when it got dark.

Arya walked to the bed and touched the green woollen dress that Willow had left for her to change into. _Bloody hells._ She was going to look like Maid Marian. Arya pinched her arm again, desperate to wake up in her bed at home.

It hurt. And she was still in the same room.

Explanations were running low and Arya’s frustration was skyrocketing. Not asleep. Not dreaming. Not concussed. She hadn’t eaten any weird mushrooms at High Hill or drank anything since her morning latte. Either these people were incredibly dedicated role players - the kids were especially convincing, or she was...

‘Crazy,' she breathed, looking around the room. 'It's not real. I'm imagining it all,' Arya shook her head ‘aaand talking to myself now too. That's...that's great. I'm just good old fashioned craz-'

‘Are you done in there?’ Willow’s voice demanded at the door.

‘Oh, my Gods! One minute!’ Arya cried back before aggressively yanking off her shoe.

'Lady Stoneheart is ready to talk with you downstairs.'

Arya heard the grave tone in the girl’s voice and a chill crept down her own spine at the mention of that name. The woman was dead. She was dead, yet she walked, spoke, and knew Arya's name. It was different to the horror movies that usually set her eyes rolling. The zombies in those were unfeeling, brain-eating, mindless things. Lady Stoneheart spoke, in her awful choking, rasping way. She understood, thought and seemed to be the leader of these people. Hate radiated from the woman, and she was waiting for Arya. She swallowed hard and slipped off her other shoe.

  


The dress itched. Arya’d never been a huge fan of dresses but decided this one was particularly awful. It had no give or stretch, so the sleeves pulled at every movement. She wanted to scratch everywhere it brushed against her skin. But worse, it showed every curve. Arya wanted to put her hoodie on over the top, but Willow had been quick to whisk it and her jeans away. She was permitted her Converse until the right sized boots could be found. Willow looked at them as though they’d insulted her personally.

Downstairs most people had finished eating and were already off or doing chores. Children as young as the one that stared at her earlier were helping to clear the tables and sweep the floor. But the men were mostly gone. And Arya wanted to know the whereabouts of one in particular.

‘Pick that up, Wallen.’ Willow told a boy about the same age as her, who’d knocked a spoon off of the table. She watched as he did as he was told, and noticed that despite her young age, Willow seemed to be the boss around the inn.

‘Are you his sister?’ she asked

‘No. I’m Jeyne’s sister. Willan’s an orphan, like all the kids here. Are you?’

‘Am I what?’ Arya asked quietly, pulling at the collar on her dress as they neared Lady Stoneheart's table.

‘An orphan?’ Willow whispered back.

They came to a stop at the table. The stocky, brown-haired man sat to the left, eyes distrusting. The lady rose, and Arya hesitated for the slightest second before raising her head to meet the woman's gruesome gaze.

 

'Yes.'


End file.
